Angels To Die
by Slytherin Princess Adelyn
Summary: Princess Clarissa Morgenstern hasn't believed in angels or demons since the day her mother died. Yet when she's kidnapped by a devilish boy with angelic eyes, she finds herself contemplating just how tempting a demon can be. Then again, aren't all demons fallen angels? *sexual content* Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue**_

The morning light comes in through the gauzy white curtains, floating in gentle waves into the large, rectangular room. It drifts over the furniture in the room, lighting the dark mahogany colors of the bed, dresser, and vanity to a warm brown. The double doors are slightly cracked open, letting more light into the room. A small chandelier hangs lowly over the large, overstuffed feather bed. On the far wall, from the bed, the powder blue wall is covered in stacks of thick books well read and loved dearly. On the walls hang vibrant and mesmerizing paintings and sketches in all shapes and sizes, arranged perfectly.

Clary stands in the large doorway, attempting to memorize her childhood room one last time. This is where her mother read her to sleep every night with her favorite fairy tales about princesses and daring shadowhunters killing the demons and winning the battles. Where Clary's older brother made fun of her favorite paintings until she cried, even though he always ended up apologizing and complimenting them. Where the nurses had tended to the scratches she earned from chasing Jonathon through the rose bushes, where she had suffered through a broken leg after a horse threw her during her lessons. This is where she wept for weeks after her mother passed away and left alone in this huge castle. This is where Clary grew up.

This was it for her, wasn't it? She would never be back here again. In the room where she had grown for the past nineteen years of her life. Yes, she would be back to see her family but it wouldn't be the same. She would be married, her home would be in a kingdom hours away, with someone else. Clary crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the doorjamb, her body tired physically and mentally.

Just one week ago, Valentine had informed her during breakfast that he had arranged her marriage to her long time best best and now king, Sebastian Verlac. He hadn't talked to her in months, but she knows he was now the kind of the Verlac kingdom. She still remembers how fast her stomach dropped at the news, the feeling of dread clouding over her vision. She loves Sebastian, but could never want to marry him. Despite her desperate begging and near tears, he refused to say anything more about her future, Clary tried to argue with him but was met with only silent glares. Clary wasn't used to talking back to her father, ever, and didn't like the result it warranted. She closes her eyes momentarily, flashing back to the conversation a week earlier.

"Father, please, can we discuss your decision?" She had asked desperately, her breakfast long forgotten in front of her. Valentines face bent into odd angles of anger, twisting his pale white futures into a terrifying expression. He rose from the table, his wooden dining chair falling hard on the floor, the sound of wood and marble clashing and reverberating through the large dining hall. Clary flinched away from his reddening face and rising voice, his hand slamming the table so hard she waited for it to crack under his palm.

"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern." He hissed, eyes narrowed to black slits. I shrunk back in fear, ready to bolt. His faces slowly lowers until I could make out his black irises from his even darker pupils. She felt his hot breath wash over her, but her bones were still chilled. "Don't you dare talk back to me. I have decided you will marry Sebastian, and you will marry Sebastian." He straightened up, letting his face smooth back into it's normal facade. "Besides, I may not be as tolerant of your tongue as your future husband."

Clary sat still, trembling as her father walked out of the dining hall. He never showed much emotion after her mother's death, and it unsettled Clary at how enraged Valentine had gotten. A sudden, fierce longing for her mother brought Clary back to the present, and she leans her head against the frame of the door. She knows her mother never would have forced her into a marriage.

Jocelyn had been a true romantic, always telling Clary about fierce, handsome shadowhunter boys and girls, meeting in battle, saving each others lives, and falling in love. She told her that's how she met Valentine. Clary could picture it so clearly, the way her mother had always told her- That they had met at a battle outside one of the wards of Idris, demons having found a loophole through the wards and spilling into the forest by the hundreds. Her father, fighting off a huge Drevak demon, down to his last seraph blade. He had been covered in demon blood, but he kept fighting. Quickly losing strength, he misses a block and stumbles, falling backwards. He had told her he had never been more terrified, looking up at the towering demon, the shouts and cries of battle filling his ears and the stench of death in the air. He tried to back away, but the ground had been churned into a mixture of dirt and blood that clung to his body, holding him in place. The demon's huge, scaly and taloned hand come down, aimed directly to rip out his heart- then Jocelyn was there.

Valentine had told her all he remembered was a flash of silver, and the dragon-like head had fallen to the ground in a wet splat. Slowly the demon disintegrated, and in its place was Jocelyn. All he process for a moment through his dizzy mind was her bright red hair, waving in the smoky air like a banner. Then, as his vision came back, Clary had been told Jocelyn looked like a warrior princess, dressed in gear with dirt on her face, a hand on her hip with a seraph blade in the other, and the brightest, most alive green eyes. She then proceeded to roll her eyes and walk away into battle, throwing a seraph blade behind her for Valentine. He had loved her since then.

Ever since she was little, sitting wide eyed in her bed as her parents told her how they fell in love, Clary had wanted that. To meet a handsome young shadowhunter, fight off demons together, and ride off into a palace made of Adamas. She even drew these exact scenarios out before when she was younger- a battle being waged in a dark blur behind two young shadowhunters, both bathed in light, who can only see each other.

Clary sighs, running a hand through her tangled hair. She would never have that now, and there was no point in entertaining the fantasy. No longer was she a little girl with all her hopes and dreams possible- now she was a teenager, forced into womanhood by a father who could care less about her. She bites her lip and casts one final look around her room and her childhood. And then, she turns her back.

* * *

 ** _Hey guys,_**

 ** _This isn't a repost don't go reporting me, I'm one of the original authors and there's more information about this on the QueensOfBullshit profile._**

 ** _I'm also not going to start updating this periodically so keep your hopes down for right now._**

 ** _I'm also making a promise to every single one of you, right here and right now, it may take an untold amount of coffee and a few (dozen) sleepless nights, but I WILL FINISH EVERY STORY THAT I HAVE ON HERE._**

 ** _Keep your faith in me a little longer, I promise I'm worth it._**

 ** _XOXO_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 1_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments, I just play with the characters._**

Moving through the stone steps of her home, the feet that carry Clary feel heavier than usual. Her body doesn't move with the normal grace, the normal light step and soft treads she had learned from her mother when she learned how to be lady. Instead, she drags herself through the corridor with the weight of a thousand worlds tainting her shoulders, stained glass casting patterns of light through the air that the dust motes dance in. She passes the dining hall, the training room, the music room, but she doesn't move her stare to gaze longingly at the rooms where she had laughed, danced, breathed, lived. Instead she just keeps walking, skirts whispering against the floor beneath her in a soft song and her locket bouncing familiarly in between her breasts, next to her heart that feels as if it's filled with liquid dread.

Though it isn't as much woe that she had to leave her family- she isn't too torn up about leaving her distanced father and emotionally cold brother. They barely bothered to remember she was their flesh ever since her mother, the life of the family, had died from a blood disease. Once her bright eyed, enigma of a mother had forever left these halls, she took the spirit from them and her family. Now all she had become is a remembrance of what they'd lost, the beautiful red hair on her shoulders and the almond shaped green eyes that showed the Jocelyn in her now not more than a bitter, unwilling shrine.

The silence that once made these halls bearable, that let her think and daydream as she walked aimlessly with only her thoughts to keep her company, now make Clary feel like a prisoner being walked to her execution. But, this wasn't going to be a quick death, it would be a slow process. Clary's heart twists at the thought of leaving the only place she ever dared called home, and giving up the title of Queen of her father's land- the title her mother had always told her she was born to have. She winces at the thought of the look on her mother's face, seeing her only daughter married off without a second glance. The idea makes her sick.

Jonathan should be here, helping her carry her luggage to the carriage. That's what older brothers do, isn't it? Clary doesn't know where Jonathan's completing his annual summer training this year, but she knew he must be aware of her situation. How could he not be? Hell, he had probably had the idea to marry her off to Sebastian, her long time friend. She knew he thought of him as an ideal woman. A strong, brave man who wouldn't blink at the thought of risking his life for his kingdom. Any woman would be lucky to have him, but she simply couldn't conjure what appeared to be a basic, simple attraction to the man. Sebastian was Sebastian, her friend who she never wanted to marry and love. Just the simple thought of the idea of heirs, forcing herself to love someone she couldn't, makes Clary feel like vomiting all over the smooth marble steps under her feet.

Clary's maids walk briskly behind her, lugging her heavy, leather suitcases that contain the contents of her life. She hears grunting and small gasps for breath from both of the middle aged women, slaving over her luggage, and she feels miserable. She wants nothing more than to reach behind her and take their burden- but proper young royals don't do that. She can't help a slight exasperated sigh at the image of her culture teacher snapping at her, telling her to fix her posture and wipe her smile off her face. She makes a mental note to herself right then and there that if she ever did have the dreaded heirs, she would never make them take those horrid classes.

She continues walking, finally reaching the end of the miserably long hallway and emerging into the foyer. Valentine is waiting near the entrance, and a long line of servants and maids are all bowed, waiting to wish a final farewell to their princess of nineteen years. She stops, flashes of every single one of the people lined up before her swirling in her mind, painting a vivid picture of her childhood.

Convincing the kitchen staff to let me eat sweets before dinner, sneaking down into the servants quarters and playing cards, purposely losing to them just to get them to accept a few gold pieces, having her first kiss when she was 12 with a cute brunette servant with wide eyes behind the angel statue, complaining to her handmaidens about corsets, every little detail that was a fleck of paint on the tapestry of her childhood suddenly becomes shockingly clear to her. All of the sudden, the overwhelming urge to stop and hug and squeeze every single person standing in front of her seizes her. But she doesn't.

All she does is raise her chin, pick up the skirts of her gossamer pale orange gown, and stride forward until she stands directly in front of her father. His chin is raised, white blonde hair impeccable as he looks down at her expressionlessly. Forever a king before a father. But years of experience has taught her how to discover the chinks in his armor, and instead her eyes are drawn to the hint of silver in white, the slight lines under his eyes, and the smile lines that had once been prominent stretched tight from years of no use. But most of all, his daughter notices the cracks in his onyx eyes, the misery in them that asked to be seen underneath his might. She knows what Jocelyn's death had done to him, how instead of breaking he taped himself together with bonds that are slowly falling apart, too silently for anybody besides his flesh to notice. But he refused the fact he was broken, and struck down anybody who tried to help. Valentine Morgenstern was too prideful to ever admit he was anything less than perfect, in any situation that he couldn't handle himself. But he would fall one day, everybody knew it. The only thing not known was when.

After a moment of tense silence, Clary speaks. "I must ask, Jonathan-"

"Has been informed about your engagement." He interrupts. "He agrees Sebastian shall make a suitable husband for you, and wishes you the best of luck. Once he returns, he shall come to see you."

Clary nods, biting her lip. Valentine just waits, as if asking why she's still here. Her heart aches at the memories of him happy, black eyes full of life as he playfully put a dollop of whipped cream on Jocelyn's nose during brunch one Sunday morning. She still remembers the way she slapped his hand away, green eyes exasperated yet amused at her father's antics as her and Jonathan fought over pancakes. Back then, life had been so simple, where her biggest concern was Jonathan tipping over all her pots of paint like he always threatened whenever she was being annoying. Valentine had always scolded Jonathan for teasing her, then proceeded to help him eat all the french toast the next morning just to annoy her. She had always walked into brunch the next morning with an innocent looking Jonathan and Valentine seated at the table, their mouths bursting as they cast sidelong looks at each other. It had always annoyed her, but now-

What she wouldn't do for even a ghost of that man to exist today.

Now he just stares back at his daughter, the little girl he had beat and stomped into a woman who now stares back at him. Emerald meets black, and for once she doesn't back down, lower her eyes like the past had taught her to. She just looks back- cold, calculating, like he had looked at her for the last ten years. And very slowly, without ever moving her gaze from his, she curtsies. "Goodbye, father." She whispers, her voice colder than the ice that pumped in his veins.

His sharp, square jaw drops an inch, and with that, Clarissa knew she's dismissed from her kingdom. After a moment, she rises and turns her back on him, knowing his black eyes will always be burned into her vision for the rest of her life. But she refuses to drop her shoulders, lower her chin, as she strides towards the open double doors.

The blinding sunlight greets her after the dimmed light of the castle, and she has to squint in the rays. Beyond the castle lay rolling green hills so rich in color they seemed to come alive, dancing to the melody of the wind that blew through the glades of grass and branches of trees. A cobblestone path wide enough for three carriages stretches so far she can't even make out the end. Above her, the sky blankets her in tones of rich blue and cotton whites, mixed together in a tapestry of colors that she could stare at forever. Outside the menacing stone walls she had been sheltered in, lay the entire world, a canvas of scenes so extraordinary she couldn't paint it if she dared to try. A small smile plays at the edge of her rosy lips, the smile she always donned whenever she was rarely faced with the beauties of Idris, enhanced through her artist's eye like they always had been. Oh, how she loves this place.

Her smile fades as her eyes land on the carriage parked to the side. It's large, the fancy golden embroidery and the Morgenstern kingdom colors of maroon and gold prominent announcing to the world that whoever's in that carriage is powerful. Behind it is a slightly smaller carriage that she knew is for security, probably containing over five huge palace guards to escort her safely to her new home. She knew she ought to feel powerful, honored and prideful to be carried off in such fashion. Yet Clary still felt like a bug in the shadow of the royal carriage. She justs stands there, staring until the carriage master walks out of the front, and bows deeply. He's dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, and quickly opens the door and motions her inside. Clary feels her feet move automatically and gracefully carrying her into the carriage, and she slides along the velvet covered bench. Settling in, she stares out the tiny window, pushing aside the maroon curtains. All the bright colors seem muted, dulled behind the pane of glass.

With a sigh, Clary rests her head against the back of the carriage, fingers absent mindedly playing with the oval shaped locket resting at the base of her throat. Jocelyn had gifted it to her when she turned eight. She had told her about how it had been in the Fairchild family for generations. She gazes down at the white gold, polished so brightly you wouldn't guess it was even a year old. The small oval pendant is lined with complicated, engraved swirls, all surrounding a cursive F for Fairchild. Slowly, her fingers pop open the clasp and she looks down at the picture of her and her mother, Clary only 8 with chubby cheeks and bright eyes. Jocelyn Fairchild had her arms placed gently around her shoulders, dark red hair resting gently on one shoulder, dark green eyes gazing coolly into the camera. Electricity is rare and used sparingly in Idris, so the photo that stares up at Clary now is the only solid proof that her mother once lived, breathed, existed.

With a sigh, she pops the clasp shut and lets the warm metal rest against her skin once more. Now is not the time to become caught up in memories long turned to dust.

Her mind shifts to her upcoming situation. Sebastian. She had known him since he was no taller than the sunflowers in the fields they ran through together. Knows the dark hair, brown eyes, and slightly crooked nose from when he fell at the age of eight that made up his features better than he did. The way he always blushes under pressure, or how he stuffs his hands in his pockets when he became shy. It didn't matter than it had been two years since they last met- Sebastian had been a part of her upbringing, and he was as familiar as the back of her own hand. But yet, no matter how much time she gave it, she knew in her heart of hearts she could never love him. Never adore him, never feel that rush in your veins or fluttering in your stomach Jocelyn had always described to her as the feeling of being in love. A sinking feeling flooded her senses at the thought of the miserable years ahead of her. Was it possible to love him? How long would it be ten, twenty years?

The feel of the horses hooves against concrete brought her back from her thoughts and into real life once more. Every time the wheels of the carriage rock beneath her, Clary's heart skips a beat and starts to hammer in a frantic tattoo against her ribcage. She smooths down nonexistent wrinkles on her silky smooth dress, self-consciousness seeping through her pores and invading her thoughts. Her bones were frozen in place, she couldn't breath. Why was this corset so damn tight? No matter how small her waist is, it seems the corset always demanded more.

She starts to fidget, as she always had since she was little. Her long fingers twist anxiously in her lap, pulling and tugging at the skin. How long was this carriage ride? She considers laying down on the bench and trying to finish her sleep, but considering the fact she's wearing a gown and there wouldn't be anyone to help make her presentable before she was officially welcomed into Sebastian's court, it didn't seem like too good of an idea. Finally, Clary resolves to lean her head back, ignoring the painful knot in her neck, and closes her eyes in an attempt to delve back into her own imagination.

Oh in the Angels name, why were those roads so bumpy?

A scowl paints her lips as she tosses and turns, trying to gain a position of maximum comfort. However, the carriage refuses to cooperate, and she quickly finds she wasted away a good half hour just settling into random positions around the uncomfortable palace on wheels. She considers asking how long it would take to arrive, but doesn't want to risk distracting the driver. It would certainly take longer if they accidently veer off a cliff because of her impatience. If Clary had to be honest with herself, that seemed like a easier option at the moment. Less painful too.

Bored once again, she pulls apart the curtains and peeks out the window, squinting at the harsh sunlight. Rolling green hills that last for mile after mile glisten in the white sunlight, seemingly never ending. The landscape is dotted with extravagant houses and fields of crops. Here the sky is unmarked, the pale blue reminding her of the extravagant paint set she once possessed . Her fingers itch for a paintbrush, or even some colored pencils and a sketch book, knowing her memory could never do this beautiful view justice. She leans her head against the window, not caring if the glass messes up the elegant updo her hair had been styled into. A breath of relief leaves her chest at the feel of cold glass against her burning skin- carriages had always been insufferably hot. Very slowly, she lets her eyes droop, and unconsciousness drag her under.

Clary jerks awake to the sound of a gentle knock on the window. She starts, almost falling back into the plush seats. What time is it?

With a groan, she opens the door of the carriage and hisses at the piercing sunlight that burns her eyes. The driver is outlined by the rays of stinging light, and after her eyes adjust she makes out two of the guards from the carriage behind them. Quickly adjusting her gown, she raises her chin and tried to appear as elegant as a person who had just been drooling not five seconds ago can seem.

"Have we arrived?" She questions politely, straining to get a glance of Sebastian's castle behind them, But all she sees are more hills and skies, and what seems to be a cow in the distance.

The driver shakes his head. "I truly apologize for the inconvenience your majesty, but there seems to be, uh, a complication."

"What?" She brushes them all aside and hops out of the carriage herself, raising a hand to shade her eyes and stare at the gigantic tree, fallen straight across the path. To the right are more trees, too thick for a carriage to weave through, and to the left is a sloping hill no experienced carriage master would even dare to brave. Clary sighs in exasperation and slumps against the carriage, all pretences of royalty drowned in irritation. She did not have the patience to be proper right now.

"We are looking for alternate routes, but for now I'm afraid we have to wait." One of the guards mumble, his light eyes downcast.

"All right, I understand. I needed some fresh air anyways." Clary says with a shrug. They nod and all huddle up, poring over maps and books they must have stored in the spare carriage.

Her request to walk around the seemingly safe surroundings in able to get some fresh air is met with a chorus of loud no's and a insufferably long reason why it isn't safe or proper for her majesty to be walking alone. However, Clary finally got them to permit her to sit on the sloping edge of the grassy cliff, just under the shade of an apple tree. It was in a place where they could have easily watched over her, but they are all busy shouting at each other while trying to decide alternate 's finally alone for a moment.

The grass is dry and rough against her skin, cushioning her between the long green blades. She lets her body sink into the grass, a nearby daisy tickling her cheek. Unable to remember the last time she simply sat and cloud watched. The cool, fresh air whistles down her throat as she squints into the powder blue sky, feeling the familiar ache beneath her eyes from trying to see behind the blue. She focuses on the clouds instead, following a swift moving puff that resembled a shoe. So consumed in absolutely nothing, she doesn't notice the horses until the screams come.

Cautiously rising from her spot on the grassy cliff, she peeks over the edge to see where the noise came from. And has to bite down on her hand to keep from screaming.

A wickedly sharp sword going cleanly through one of her guards. He crumples, his hand still making to draw his weapon. Above him stands another man, holding the murderous weapon and turning away before her guard had even finished dropping to the ground. Six horses, along with six men all covered from head to toe in concealing black, have arrived at the scene. The horses they rode in on are silent, while the carriage horses whine and neigh so loud it almost drowns out the sound of the astonished yells from her guards. Clary's eyes fly wide in pure shock and horror as the remaining guards all draw their weapons, and a full on fight breaks out, right there in the middle of what she had earlier thought of as a perfect landscape.

The guards are palace guards, men who have been trained since the age of twelve to be the fastest, deadliest fighters. Yet, they all seem like children comparing to the black masked men, their weapons mere sticks, a simple nuisance.

She crouches, transfixed and frozen in fear to the point where she couldn't move a muscle long enough to breathe. That is, until she saw one of the black dressed man force her carriage master to his knees. His nose is broken and streaming blood, but his face is filled with enough fury behind the crimson to dispatch an army. He catches her eye, and mouths a single word.

Run

The blade comes down on his neck.

A strangled cry escapes her lips, but she rises. She needs to run, get on a horse and run until they couldn't chase her. But before she even rises fully, one of the men spots her. He pauses for a second, almost as if in surprise, before starting again. Clary's initial shock wears off and cold fury takes its place. Kicking off her heeled shoes, she meets the guard head she has never fought anyone besides Jonathan, nineteen years of training takes savage control, fueled by her anger. A battle cry fit for war erupts from her lips as she collides with the guard, grabbing his outstretched arm and striking out in the blink of eye. After hearing the crunch of his wrist and the groan of agony, she takes the blade from his slackened grasp.

And ran him through without blinking.

It was instinctual, grabbing his sword and killing him before he could kill her. The basic survival instinct her tutors and father had beat into her in the pattern of purple and blue bruises that showed what would happen if she wasn't fast enough. But still, she wanted to scream and cry and die all in that moment, her hands shaking as she ended the first life she would ever end. Tears streak down her face, but she doesn't stop moving the blade. Doesn't stop until the hilt under her hand hits his torso with a sickening thump. Doesn't stop until, somehow, she knows his heart isn't beating anymore.

Every single aspect of her training seems to kick in that one moment, every skill or lesson on how to remain cold, focused and detached coming into play, and she lets the blade fall to the ground with his corpse. Horror and revulsion stir in the pit of her stomach at the sight of his slumped body, but she fights to keep it down. She can't stop, only forgets the sickness that plagues her and runs back into the bloody fray. It's down to one of her guards and the second carriage master, and the five black dressed men. One of them breaks away to charge at her, blade raised. She crouches, waiting for him to come close enough. She tries the move she pulled off on the first one, but he feints and swings around so he's behind her. A strong arm wraps around her waist and she's pulled against a chest, a swords coming down to point at her neck. She can feel the chuckle run through his body, and she grits her teeth hard as she swings her head back so hard she hears the crack of his nose. Ow, no one really wins in a head butt.

His grip loosens with a yelp and she thrusts a hard elbow in his side. As he stumbles back her leg kicks out as she whirls. hitting him so hard in the kneecap he lets out a wail of pain, falling to ground. She holds on to her long skirts, almost like she was dancing a bloody waltz.

Grabbing his sword from his loose grip, she quickly plunges it into his chest before she has a chance to think.

She almost screams as she watches herself take the life of the second person in five minutes, as if her normal, calm self that sat for hours and painted flowers had replaced her brush with a sword and her paint for blood. But Clary didn't stop. She couldn't stop, and just watches as life drains from the dark brown eyes behind the black wraps, as they roll back in his head, and as he dies.

Slowly, her hand slides off the wet and sticky hilt, and she tries not to hear the thump of the body hitting the ground. She whirls around and realizes the carnage she's standing in. The bodies of all of her guards and the carriage masters are all lying in pools of crimson blood around her, and a semicircle of the black dressed people surround her, their black tunics coated in layers of fresh blood, the blood of her men. Fear knots in her stomach, but she drowns it in anger. She brandished her teeth in a snarl and tightened her hand on the sword. If they were here to kill her, then she was going to go down fighting. Hopefully she could take these bastards with her.

However, the second she raises her sword, they all descend on her at once. They grab onto her, surrounding and suffocating her as she screams for life. She manages to grab onto an arm and kick it viciously, yet it doesn't stop the men. They manage to pin her to the side of a carriage as she turns and twists, biting and kicking whenever she could. Though she quickly feels her strength fading, and Clary knows she can't hold out much longer. Finally somebody manages to clamp down on her mouth to end screams, and one yells out for help. The last man left turns and approaches them, and even in the midst of the blood and sweat and panic in her eyes, she sees, in between the thick black fabric wrapping his face and hair, the brightest gold eyes she's ever seen, right before the butt of a sword hits her on the side of her head.

* * *

 _ **I'M ONLY UPDATING SO THERE'S MORE TO READ BEFORE THE LOOOOOOOOOOOONG BREAK.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments, I just play with the characters._**

"That is obviously not Valentine."

These are the first words Clary registers, eyelids still heavy. Blinking them open, the fuzzy images of green countryside coming into focus. What is happening? Moving her head to the side, Clary's eyes widen in horror at the sight of blood surrounding her, covering her. Her breath sticks in her throat, air refusing to come. The bodies of her guards and three of the black clothed men littered the once peaceful road. Oh, by the Angel.

Suddenly she's very aware of the fact her wrists are bound in tough rope in front of her, her body resting against the trunk of an apple tree. A soundless scream escapes her lips as she pulls to the edges of the rope hard enough to draw blood from her rubbed raw wrists. This isn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Her guards were the best and a few rebels just cut them down, like they were made of paper.

"Well, unless Valentine decided to become a small redheaded woman, I'm pretty sure it's obvious Alec." Her head snaps up at the comment only to see two of the four remaining men conversing angrily, their masks and caps drawn down to reveal their faces. The one facing her is speaking rapidly, not bothering to take a breath between sentences, a hand tangled in his midnight black hair with his electric blue eyes fixed on the man before him. All she can see of the other man was his tall, lean build and bronze neck length, honey curls. Who are these people, and why did they attack her carriage unprovoked?

Clary looks around frantically, trying to avoid seeing the bodies scattered around her, hoping to see a house or a carriage. Any sign of civilization would be helpful. It was obvious she couldn't fight all of them at once, unarmed and tied up at that. Yet all she sees is the same open, green expanse, with no place to run or hide.

"I felt the need to point it out, since you seem completely unconcerned with the fact we didn't exactly get the right person. You can't blame me for assuming you must be blind!" Clary goes still, praying they don't notice she's awake yet. Straining her ears, she listens in. The caramel haired man chuckles. He just played a huge part in murdering good people and he chuckled?

"There are more important things to discuss then my vision, Alec. Such as, who the hell is this redhead who managed to kill Pangborn and Blackwell, and why is she riding in the Morgenstern royal carriage?"

Realization hits Clary like a stampede of horses- they don't know who she is. Yet. She quickly searches for any articles of clothing that could identify her as Clarissa Adele Morgenstern- and spies her locket with the Fairchild crest, resting gently against the pale skin of her neck. Surely they couldn't trace it back to her mother, Valentines deceased wife? If they were after her father then they must know everything about him, including that his wife's maiden name was Fairchild.

Everything freezes, panic filling Clary's chest. In a moment of pure instinct, she reaches up as best as she can with her bound wrists and grabs the locket, squeezing it tightly for a quarter of a second before ripping it from her throat and throwing it down the hill. She bites her lip to keep from crying out, the only picture of her mother she would ever have tumbling down the hill, disappearing between the glades of green grass. A quick reflection of the gold, then it's gone. She squeezes her eyes shut for a split second, allowing herself to feel the pain before burying it and snapping back into reality.

The two men talking in front of her still haven't noticed she's awake, and Clary quickly scans the terrain. Two other men are alive, both resting against the side of a wooden carriage, one tending to an arm wound. Okay, she can do this.

Pulling at the knots confining her wrists in front of her with her teeth, Clary groans internally as she realizes there's no way they're coming off anytime soon. Could she cut them open? Looking around, her eyes widen and rest on a forgotten shortsword five feet in front of her. Risky, but it could work. Her scheming eyes fixed on the talking pair, Clary lowers her torso until her belly was flat against the ground. Silent for a minute to make sure no one noticed her new position, then she begins to crawl.

Inch by inch, she drags her body over the wet earth silently, teeth clenched with the effort of keeping quiet when her arms were cut by sharp rocks. The sword is closer, sunlight glinting off the hilt. It was so close that Clary could see her reflection in the polished metal.

"Hey!"

She froze on the ground, her head snapping up to see the blue eyed man staring at her. The man he was talking to spins to face her quickly. Her eyes locking with one of the most beautiful people she's ever seen.

Perfectly cut planes and edges make up his face, tanned to a perfect honeycomb hue that reminded Clary of sunshine. The strangest eyes glare back at her, chips of molten copper for irises. For a second Clary feels weaker by his gaze than her uncomfortable position on the ground, staring up at the young man towering over her. Then, she realizes the other time she's seen those eyes before- right before he knocked her out with his sword.

Launching her body off the ground, she makes a desperate last grab for the blade with her bound hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Clary sees him snap into action and smash his foot down on the blade, inches away from her hand. Cold metal presses against her throat, and she casts her eyes down to see the hilt of the sword pressed to her neck.

"Against the tree." The strange-eyed man barks, keeping the sword steady against her neck. Clary begins to slowly rise from the ground, crawling backwards with her eyes fixed on the sword. Her back hits the tree trunk and she looks up at him, eyes wide. Cautiously, he moves the blade aside and crouches in front of her, the dark haired man hovering a few feet behind with his hand on the hilt of his own sword. The men at the carriage haven't noticed the sudden change in mood.

"Well, what do we have here?" He murmurs in a deep, velvety voice as he studies her. Clary goes completely still, staring back at him with flushed cheeks as his eyes skim over her face and exposed skin over her body. He cocks an eyebrow at her silence. "What, are you mute?"

She stays perfectly quiet, staring back at him expressionlessly. Anger fills his eyes as he lets out an angry growl, his fingers coming up to grasp her chin firmly. Not hard enough to hurt or leave marks, yet hard enough to prevent her from looking anywhere else. His voice is deadly quiet. "I asked you to speak."

Clary raises her brows, refusing to shrink back from his overbearing presence. "No." She says in a perfectly calm, clear voice.

The muscles in his jaw flex as he stares back at her, the little air between them charged with his anger. His eyes narrow as his body tenses, the grip on her chin tightening ever so lightly. Clary doesn't dare try move.

All of a sudden he releases her, standing up and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He looks down at Clary, obviously considering something. She just stares back, schooling her futures into cold, unreadable. Her silent way of telling him to fall down a deep well, where no one will ever find him again.

The man with the blue eyes steps forward, looking cautiously at Sir Asshat. "Jace, we should just leave her. We came here looking for Valentine, this is not Valentine. We need to get back before nightfall." He says urgently. The man, Jace, slowly shakes his head.

"Alec, she's important- I can tell. A feisty redhead who can take down two of my best guardsman and who just happens to be riding in the Morgenstern carriage? She's valuable." Jace looks back at the other two men left behind. "Go get the shackles!" He looks back down at her, a dangerous smile on his face. "We're bringing home a guest."

~o.O.o~

Another rough pull on the chains, and Clary almost falls for the third time. Her knees were scratched and bleeding, much like her arms and the side of her head. The boiling sun beat down on the entourage despite darkness coming soon, and Clary could feel her skin changing from her old creamy exterior to a color that reminded her of burnt wildflowers. What she wouldn't do for a canteen of water right about now.

The guards didn't exactly seem like they would share. Two horses were on either side of her, the two other guards, whose names she didn't know riding them. Chained to either one of their horses is the long metal chain connected to the handcuffs she bore on her wrists, the skin underneath so raw and bloody that the circlets began to stick to her skin. Two adjoining chains ran to her ankles, which only had enough space between them for her to walk in small steps. How did they expect to get anywhere with her by nightfall if she couldn't walk normally? The guards had no problem at all roughing her up while getting her into the chains, Clary recalls with a snort. One of them is currently nursing a broken nose.

Clary walks in miserable steps as they all moved along quietly and slowly, Alec's horse behind her and Jace's leading the path. Trapped inside the square formed by their horse carried bodies, she tries to keep her head up with dignity in the sweltering heat- despite the fact dried blood and grime coats her hands, legs and face, and long rips and gashes have long since ruined the delicate fabric of her dress.

 _Look at this- the daughter of Valentine Morgenstern, heir of the Morgenstern kingdom and soon to be wife of King Verlac- now just a nameless slave being shipped off to god knows where._ Clary narrows her eyes and focuses on the back of Jace's head, almost hoping to burn a hole in his skull just to know what thoughts are swirling around in there- also to maybe fry his brain a little bit. Who is this mysterious Jace? And what did he want with her father?

 _And why does he look so familiar?_

She stares at the back of his head, concentrating hard on the copper curls that ended at the base of his neck. There is something about him- something just a touch familiar. Maybe the strange color of his eyes, or the shape of his jaw- something about him struck a bell in Clary's head, but she can't find where the ringing was coming from.

Was he a business partner in a deal gone sour? No- much too young for that. A puff of frustration escapes her lips as she finds herself going in circles in her own mind, unable to place a memory or title to her mysterious captor.

A hard yank of the chain on the left side brings her back to life- she must have been slowing down. Clary jerks her head as she attempts to regain her balance, and fails miserably.

Her body collapses onto the hard ground, shaking from exhaustion and dehydration. For a few moments, the horses don't stop and she's dragged by her wrists and legs, letting out a wail of agony from the metal cutting into her open wounds. A loud whining goes through the clearing and all the horses stop. For a moment she simply lays on the floor, shaking. Then, a pair of black combat boots appear in the edges of her vision.

Two fingers tuck under her chin and jerk her head up, and she meets Jace's impatient eyes. "What is it now?" He snaps. She pulls her head away from his hand. Clary coughs and drags herself into the best position possible before lifting her head just a fraction of an inch- still a princess, no matter where she is.

"Unless you think I am a camel, I do require water and rest if you expect me to walk all this time and especially in this unbearable heat." She snaps back at him, her green eyes furious and fixed on Jace. He seems to consider it for a moment, before rolling his eyes and standing to his full height, a good two heads taller than her.

"Alright, we're making camp for the night boys. Set it up while I make sure the brat doesn't bleed to death." He sighs, as if making sure her survival is the greatest inconvenience to ever burden his pretty little shoulders. Clary frowned, sighing internally. Jace reaches down and grabs her, hauling her upright as best as he can. He takes a a ring of brass keys from a pocket in his brown jacket. Unshackling her from the horses, Clary hopes she can stand on her own. The second the last chain releases her she sags against him, not an ounce of strength left in her petite body to even attempt walking to the side of the trail where everybody else from Jace's party had begun unpacking their few belongings. Angel, that walk was more draining than she realized.

Jace reaches down, lifting her into the air and holding her bridal style as he strolls over to the campsite for the night. "Mm- I can walk. Put me down." Clary mumbles, even as her body goes loose in his arms. She feels him scoff.

"And let you smash your skull when you hit the ground? No, there are some questions I need answers to, and I intend to get them from you." He says cheerfully, letting her down gently on a thin blanket one of his guards had hurried to put down. Jace takes a box of medical supplies from Alec, and Clary watches, half unconscious as he cleanses the raw skin on her wrists and ankles and binds them with fresh white bandages. She half heartedly wanted to refuse his administration's, knowing they're only so she's awake and he can get answers out of her, but not dying of blood poisoning seems like the better option at the time. Her last memory is Alec chaining one of her wrists to a tent stake, and finally Clary lets exhaustion take her into it's arms.

~o.O.o~

"Wake up." A sharp prod to her side jerks Clary awake, her eyes flying open with a gasp. Her vision sharpens as she takes in the looming tower standing over her. Where is she? She pushes at the weight blindly, at the brink of crying from the rude awakening.

She sits up, scrambling back with her one free hand and looking around wildly. The sun has risen over the empty road, illuminating the grassy expanse where she lay. Three men are packing up what seems to be the remnants of a camp, and all that remains is a tent, the blanket that she's sitting on, and a tall man glaring down at her. That's when it all clicks into place.

Her eyes narrow as she stares up at Jace, half tempted to hiss. "Can I help you?" She asks, her voice dripping, poisonously sweet. He scoffs and crouches next to her left wrist, which she just realizes is chained to the stake. Eyes widening, she tries to pull, but he simply grabs her wrist and begins to unlock the chain.

"It's time to start traveling again- don't get any ideas." He warns as he hauls her up by her arm, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. Clary half walks, half drags by Jace to the formation of horses, Alec already on his. He looks down at her expressionlessly with his blue eyes, hands holding a beautiful black longbow. _Must be an archer,_ she thought.

About to stop in the middle of the horses arrangement, where she had been walking yesterday, Clary lets out a breath of surprise as Jace continues walking her over to his horse. Noticing her questioning look, he rolls his eyes. "You walking is slowing everyone down, and we plan on reaching our destination before the end of the day."

"Care to tell me where this destination is?" Clary asks casually, hoping it will slip out of him. It doesn't.

He gives her an unamused look. "Care to tell me your name?"

She just smiles a sickening smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Jace's face darkens, and he leans in close, pushing her body against the side of the horse with a startlingly tight grip.

"Let's get one thing straight. I don't give a damn who you are, don't think because I'm keeping you alive you can mouth off to me. Give me a reason, and I won't be so merciful." He hisses, so close she can smell his breath. He's breathing heavily, bronze eyes narrowed as he stares at her. She stares back, refusing to show the fear pulsing through her veins. Clary can make out every single inch of his face, see the anger evident in the tension of his jaw. She looks back at him coolly, barely able to breathe normally.

"Merciful? You killed my men ruthlessly and unprovoked, kidnapped me, forced me to walk in the heat with no water while chained to your horses when all I did was defend myself from death. So you'll have to excuse me if my manners aren't up to your grand standards as of late." Her voice is deadly still, each word charged with poison she spits in his face. Every molecule of air between them charged with a palpable tension. A few moments pass until Jace finally moves away.

Jace wordlessly motions for her to mount the steed, and she does so without response, balancing herself on the back of the saddle, Clary watches as he takes her ankle and chains it to one of the complicated pieces on the saddle. Please, like she's going to casually jump off the back of a moving horse and run into the middle of nowhere. She almost said as much, but she didn't want Jace to change his mind and force her to walk again.

He mounts the horse in front of her, settling into the saddle as the rest of camp is packed up and the two guards get onto their own horses. Clary wonders how the horses doesn't collapse under their weight, considering they remind her of ogres with their big, hulking backs and brutish faces. Now, if only they are as dumb as ogres.

"I suggest you hold on, unless you'd rather fall." Jace's voice is bored, the arrogance he bore in the high lilt of his shoulders evident in his tone. Clary bites down on a snarky reply, instead gripping the saddle harder. With a shout, Jace kicks the horse into action, and they're off.

She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling the rush of air lift her curls as they speed through the open countryside. despite herself and her current situation, Clary feels a smile touch her lips at the feel of being on a horse again. It had been months since she rode a horse, and she can feel each of the creature's movements beneath her. _Now, this ride would be much more enjoyable if there wasn't a cuff around my ankle,_ Clary thought snidely.

Opening her eyes again, she makes sure to note in the back of her mind any major landmarks seen in their path. On her right, over the tall branches of a dense, dark green forest, Clary notices what seems to be a spire. Keeping her eyes trained on the site, within the next five minute she can make out a royal blue point at the end of a gray tower . Eyes widening, she has to bite down on a gasp of surprise.

Because she knows that tower, and the castle that goes along with it. Knows it as well as her own home. They are in the Verlac kingdom, less than a mile away from her husband to be.

Looking around, she contemplates if she can escape from Jace and his lackeys, somehow sprint to the castle and be safe. Slowly, she turns her head and meets Alec's blue eyes. He's watching her carefully, a stone, cold expression on his face. He's built in a similar way to Jace, she notices, with the same lean body and facial expressions. His face is all angles though, yet still beautiful with his pale skin and black hair contrasting sharply, along with his bright blue eyes that seem to pierce through her, making her turn her head back as fast as she can to break his unwavering, intimidating gaze.

As the castle finally disappears from sight, lost behind tall, redwood trees, Clary feels her hope for escape on the road slowly fading away. Now all she can hold out for is the hope of running away from wherever she's being taken before they either kill her or figure out who she is and use her to hurt her father. Tears sting at the corner of her eyes, and she hurriedly wipes them away with one hand before they have the chance to fall and she starts to bawl.

 _I am not crying, I refuse to cry,_ she tries to assure herself desperately, praying her pride wins out in the end. She can't admit defeat now, after the most confusing day in her young life. She will escape from Jace- she will go home.

~o.O.o~

They finally stop after several long hours to water the horses and stretch, along the trail and near the edge of a farm. An ideal location to run to, had they not left her chained to the horse as they all took a break and snacked on apples, throwing the cores to the horses to eat. Hunger claws at her stomach but she refuses to ask them for food. She tries ignores the hushed whispers and occasional glance towards her, just sipping from the pitiful amount of water they gave her. It does nothing to help the growing pit of fear in her stomach, the uneasiness that fills her bones. What will they do to her when they arrive at their mysterious destination? Torture her? Tie her up in a cold cell? Deny her food and water until she either starved or died of dehydration?

Clary watches the unfamiliar Jace as he stretches out on the grass, casually biting into an apple. He's beautiful, there's no point in denying it. The kind of heartbreakingly beautiful described in the fairytales Jocelyn used to tell her to get to sleep, where the prince rescued the princess and they lived happily ever after in their castle or riding off into the sunset. Yet there's something in Jace's eyes that caused Clary to shrink away from him more than she ever outwardly did, a kind of age old anger towards the world that's indecipherable. It makes him dangerous, and Clary fears discovering just where his limit lies.

She turns away before he can catch her staring, choking down unspeakable words in water. Silently, she waits for the entourage to finish their midday break, and they finally get up to continue riding. The guards whose name she doesn't bother learning and Alec all mount their horses, and Jace starts to take off his brown jacket. He's wearing a simple short sleeved back shirt under it, and as he turns to put it in the saddlebag, sunlight glares off of his exposed shoulder.

The blood drains from Clary's face as she chokes on her breath, her eyes fixated on the small, clear white mark on his left shoulder in the shape of a star.

Her mind races back to the last time she saw that mark- shock, terror, and dread all making her stomach drop.

~o.O.o~

A young, smiling clary giggles as she rounds the corner of the corridor, two orange braids bouncing around her chubby cheeks. Her bare feet dig into the lush, purple carpeting of her home as she plays tag with herself. Maybe not a normal game an eight year old would play alone, but she has no friends to play with. Well, Sebby is her friend, but he isn't here right now, so playing alone is her only option.

Running down a set of spiral stairs, Clary watches her hand glide along the smooth mahogany of the railing. Her attention off the rhythm of her feet, she doesn't even notice as she misses a step until she's falling down the stairs until she's lying on the floor. Hoisting herself up, her bottom lip starts to tremble violently at the sight of her bleeding arm.

Footsteps sound from the main hall, and Uncle Stephan bursts into the foyer to see Clary crying and her arm bleeding. Without a second to spare, he dashes over to her, kneeling on the wood in front of her.

"Oh, Clary, what happened?" He asks in a panic, gentle hands reaching for her arm. Clary pulls back, scared of getting hurt.

"I- I was playing and wasn't looking where I was going, and I- I fell down the stairs." Clary hiccups, her words quickly becoming a wail. Uncle Stephan sighs and wraps his big arms around her, giving her the gentlest of hugs. Clary clutches him with one arm, letting warmth surround her. Uncle Stephan is her daddy's friend, and he always brought her sweets from his kingdom whenever he visited, like the special bread made from the fairy harvested wheat the Herondale kingdom is famous for. It tastes like syrup, if you asked Clary.

"Here, let me see where you hurt yourself." He draws back and starts to inspect her tiny, pale arm, the freckle covered skin split open on the forearm. A small cut, but it oozes bright crimson blood. She whimpers slightly.

"Will it leave a mark?" She asks through her tears. Uncle Stephan tsks, smiling down at her with one of the brightest, warmest smiles of her childhood.

"It's okay, Clary, everybody has marks. See?" He pulls the side of his tunic down and reveals his tanned shoulder, a white star shaped scar etched into the skin. Clary slows down her crying long enough to gaze in wonder at the unusual scar, the strange beauty in it.

"When did you get it?" She asks, slowly feeling the tears on her flushed cheeks dry. Uncle Stephan shrugs, tawny eyes bright and kind as he looks down at her.

"I'm not sure, I never remember getting it. But now, you have a mark, just like me." He says with his goofy grin that shows all his teeth. Clary giggles as best as she can, smiling a little. "Now," He begins, wiping away her tears with his sleeve. "Go to the infirmary and ask a maid to tend to that arm, while I get someone to clean up with blood before Jocelyn murders us both." He says with a spooky tone, and Clary shudders at the picture of her mother screaming her head off at the sight of dark red blood on her precious hardwood floors!

'Okay Uncle Stephan, thank you!" Clary chirps, her tone bright again. He grins up at her with his twinkling eyes as she dashes away, holding her hurt arm.

That was the last time she ever saw him.

~o.O.o~

Now she stares at Jace as he prepares the horse, taking in the now familiar build and shape to his jaw that slightly resembled a figure of the past, the shade to the unique bronze hair, the white, thin scar unlike the marks of any runes, and bronze eyes that she's never seen before. And it all clicks, forming a terribly perfect puzzle in her own mind.

Jace is Jonathan Christopher Herondale, son of Stephan and Celine Herondale, and heir to the throne of the Herondale kingdom.

* * *

 _ **I have a story. If you don't care feel free to skip this entire AN. Love you guys.**_

 ** _Okay, so I had two moles on my face (on my chin and along my upper mandible) and I got them removed today. I didn't cry when the needle was going into my face (I have a huge fear of needles. I mean I tried to get them to do it without the numbing), I didn't cry when they were cutting chunks off my face or when they were stitching it back up, not when they nicked my jaw a little too much and there was blood running down my neck, nor the fact that soon after I left the hospital the numbing disappeared and it hurts. I did however start crying when my dad wouldn't let me go back to class, I have a project in class that isn't available for a redo, and when I could see none of my friends. Especially my best friend because he can make me happy even if I'm missing a limb. So that's that._**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

Fear numbs Clary's muscles and vibrates through her bones, her eyes fixated on the back of Jace's neck. No, he can't be Stephan's son. Stephan's son can't be a pillaging, murderous kidnapper. Stephan was like family. Stephan was family.

A rough jolt of the horses feet beneath Clary brings her back, jaw snapping hard with the impact. This isn't good. What if he recognizes her? Have they met before on one of Stephen's visits? Her mind races back through her entire childhood, flashes of the few young faces she can remember flipping through her head. Nothing comes to mind, and in her heart Clary knows this was her first meeting with this monster who pretends to be a man.

The air keeps racing by her cheeks, the constant tattoo of the horses hooves against the packed dirt keeps pounding in her ears, Jace's steady breath in front of her keeps going, but Clary's mind is frozen. For a few minutes she simply stares at the gusts of dust kicked up by the horse's hooves, heart hammering against her ribcage. This isn't happening.

As they ride closer to the upcoming wall of emerald trees, she looks up at the tall, massive evergreens with an eerie sense of remembrance. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a strange songlike whisper reverberating in her thoughts. The haunting, sharp notes intoxicate her, quickly blurring her thoughts for a moment. She recalls this place. She remembers the feeling of the dense shrubbery beneath her palms. She knows this place.

A foreboding of deja vu snaps her back into her memories, remembering a time where her and Sebastian were young children, who had gone exploring in the foliate forest. Yet for the life of her, she couldn't remember what had happened next.

Yet the as horses veered to the left and away from the direct path to the trees, an unexplainable sense of relief rushes through her as she sagged against Jace's hard back before she jumped back, almost falling from the saddle, in a desperate attempt to stay away from him. A white spark of light shot off the distant water Clary knows is there. Lake Lyn, the beautiful, miles long lake with the crystalline surface told of in Shadowhunter folklore, the boundary of the Verlac and Herondale kingdom. The water causes hallucinations, and had to go through intense warlock magic just to become drinkable. So no one bothered to try and cross, and the lake was almost always undisturbed.

The horses started to slow to a trot as the trees started to cast a shadow over their forms, the light from the mirrored lake almost blinding her eyes. By the time she adjusted to the whiteness, the horses had stopped. Jace mutters an incoherent curse, roughly tugging at his hair. She peaked around his broad back, seeing the corner of the large bridge that separated the land, built over a narrow end of the lake. And the massive tree it's crushed underneath.

Jace and his men jump down from the horses, and Alec comes over to hurriedly undo her ankle shackles- yet once she's down, he clasps on rough, thick iron rings around her wrists, tugging her behind him like a dog. Clary tries to make herself invisible, to not make any noise, and hope that they weren't planning on throwing her into the the poisonous lake. If so, she was taking down King Jackass with her.

"What happened, this bridge was intact when we came across?" One of the guardsmen asked of Jace. He rounded on the guardsman, eyes narrowed.

"Why would I know that? Did I sprout wings and scout this before we came? Get your head out of you ass, Zachariah." He shrunk back from the king's anger, but Clary wasn't paying attention. The smell of the forest sharpened her senses, the gentle lulling of the music reaching a crescendo. And she remembered.

She had only been seven, Sebastian nine, when she had accompanied her father on a business trip, and her and Sebastian had been left alone to play with his maids. Their curiosity spiked, and that day they braved the forest they had always been warned against. The forbidden forest that called to them like the song of the sirens, one no adult could here.

Their parents ignored them when they spoke of the music, so that day they ventured out. Following the music deep into the foliage, soon they were swallowed by the dense green leaves, the music a little louder, a little sharper, a little more sour than before. Occasionally a tiny giggle, one of mischief seemed to tease their ears, but the source was never revealed.

So they had stumbled on, tiny legs carrying them into the heart of the forest until they had to clap their hands over their ears. Collapsing into each other, they had held each other until their own screams joined the symphony of sound rising above them.

The spots of light that showered through the roof of leaves darkened to night before the palace guards swooped their crying bodies into their arms, asking why they were screaming. Because even standing in the heart of the forest, they couldn't hear the call. That's when the footsteps began.

All Clary can remember, all Clary wants to remember is the blurs of light that followed them, whipping through the air with squeals of bloodlust, the thorns that tore themselves from roses to burrow into the skin of the guards. They didn't make it. All that had emerged from the depths of the nightmare was Sebastian and Clary, tears and blood mixing on their young faces after clawing out of the trees, leaving the dead bodies of the guards behind. They were never retrieved.

Yet she had forgotten all of this, it had all faded once they had left the Verlac land behind. Until now.

"Well the lake is too wide, so we have to go find a shallow point in the forest somewhere." Jace sighs. Alec's reply is cut off by Clary's shrill scream.

Still screaming, she attempts to throw herself from Alec's strong grip. He's thrown for a moment, stiffening before hurriedly tightening his grip. "What's the matter with you?" He shouts over her wails.

"You are not taking me into the forest!" She yells back, still struggling fruitlessly. Jace and all the guards tense around her in surprise, hands braced. " _I refuse_."

"Somebody help me over here!" Alec gasps, losing the battle against Clary's resistance. Zachariah darts over quickly, grabbing her by her shoulders and slamming her against his chest with his thick, ropey arms wrapped around her. His strength rivals Alec by double, allowing the smaller man to step back in relief. His blue eyes glow with hatred as he rubs the sore spot his arm where she must have hit him. Yet she doesn't care, still trying to fight the now crushing grip of Zachariah around her torso.

"Let me go!" She screeches, trying to land jabs all over him. He doesn't budge, only tenses his muscles and takes all of her seemingly pathetic hits compared to his strength. Jace slowly approaches the struggling her, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"Why are you so afraid to go into the forest, little girl? Afraid of big bad monsters?" He taunts lightly, yet his face shows no amusement at all. She stops her attempts at freedom momentarily to stare at him in hatred, chest heaving and breath uneven.

"Don't patronize me." She says in a deadly quiet whisper. "Do you know what lies in that forest? It's not like the demons you hunt or warlocks gone rogue. It's the monsters under your bed at night. It's the feeling of being eight years old and seeing a shape in the shadows that kept you up shaking. It's the most sickening and controlling feeling of pure horror that you've ever felt. Tripled." She lunges a little closer to his face, sickly pleased at the fact he took a miniscule step back in alarm though his face doesn't shift. "Listen to me when I say this." She pleads. "If you go into that forest, you do not come out.."

Jace stares back at her silently, and she doesn't miss the lack of color in his cheeks and how he doesn't blink. Yet he still scoffs, still narrows his eyes and rolls his shoulders and pretends. "Well too bad little girl. I'm call your bluff."

"Go ahead! Just don't drag me into your funeral." She says with a mirthless laugh. Jace raises a brow.

"Because we're going to leave you here? You're coming with us whether you like it or not."

"I'd rather swim in Lake Lyn." She hisses, restarting her struggles against Zachariah. He sighs and strengthens his crushing grip against her. "Let me _go_." She attempts to headbutt him, but Jace grabs her roughly by the hair.

"Will you shut up?" He yells at her, another ounce of his control gone. She gasps at the pain, choking a bit before finally falling into a deep silence. Jace waits until she's fully sagging, only held up by Zachariah's arms. His voice is now steady, the edge of fury buried deep below with a practiced precision. "Alec, get the shackles. We're taking her into the forest."

.o.O.o.

Clary's protests are rendered futile against the egos of the men that surrounded her. They all just ignore her, refusing to admit the uneasiness she could smell running off of them in waves. Her feet are sore and blistered, her pale skin had been christened by darkening purple bruises around the roughly pulled chains. Yet no worldly pain compares to the terror clutching her throat as they slowly wade into the dense trees of the forest.

The horses start to whine nervously, shifting on their hooves and tossing their manes in protest, and Clary knows they sense the evil lurking. Jace and Alec realize it would be better to just let them go rather than try to calm them through the thick brush, that they will eventually find their way home. Clary knows she will never see them again.

The second the reins and saddles were off the horse's back, they raced away from the bridge, lake, and soldiers, disappearing into the darkness.

"Even your horses have more common sense than you." Clary spits out at Jace as he strides past her, sighing at her theatrics. She wants to shout at him, distract herself from the building horror. Because she can hear it again.

The music. The sickly sweet melody is whispering in her ears constantly, yet fades to buzzing silence when she tries to focus on it. It teases her senses, like phantom chills.

The leaves overhead quickly swallow up most of the light, until only patches of sun hit the floor underneath them. Clary's breath comes in short gasps, and she's almost fully supported by the crushing weight of the guards fingers around her forearms.

Jace starts to whistle, a low tune under his breath. Wait- _is this asshat enjoying this?_ She wants to snarl at him, to slap him across the face and scream about what will happen to them all. He seems to notice her boiling anger, and relishes in it. "You still scared little girl?" He taunts, turning to walk backwards. He spreads his arms wide, tossing his head back. "There's nothing wrong with this forest!" He proclaims, a twisted smirk on his lips.

Clary stops dead. Planting her feet, she forces the guards to stop for a second as she gives Jace a flat stare. "Oh, really?" A mirthless chuckle erupts from her lips as she shakes her head, sweaty, matted hair falling around her. "Then tell me this, All-knowing- where are all the animals? Where is the life of this _beautiful_ forest?"

A silence settled on the group as Jace and Alec both stopped walking the guards step faltering as well. Alec's hand tenses on the bowstring. "What do you mean?" He demands, whipping his head around. Clary straightens up against the shackles, head high and cold grace radiating outwards. A queen until the very end.

"We have been walking for about half an hour. Why aren't the birds chirping? The cicadas chittering? Have you seen a wild doe, or maybe a hare? These are some of the only forests for miles, _why are there no animals?_ "

Nobody speaks, nobody moves. They're all glancing around the trees, waiting, hoping for something to emerge and prove her wrong. Nothing. Clary doesn't bother, staring dead on at Jace with cold satisfaction on her face. He stares back, gaze calculating. Well, if his bones gets picked out of his skin it's not her fault.

"Alright little girl, maybe you're right." Jace speaks slowly. He turns to Alec and the guards. "Alec, take off the irons, we're going to separate from Zachariah and Enoch. You go with the guards."

The blue eyed boy couldn't wait a second before protesting. "Do you really think we should split up? You saw what she did to Pangborn and Blackwell! We can't let her get in a position where-"

"You're not going to _let_ me do anything, Alec." Jace says, tone freezing and eyes steady. Alec falters off, gripping his bow so hard his knuckles were white. Clary thought he would snap it in half and in this god forsaken place they needed all the protection they could get. "We can handle her, so unchain her from the guards. That's an order."

"I am not your servant." Alec's tone is quiet, and Jace's eyes widen a bit. He seems to realize what he said to him, and the tinge of regret is written on his face. Surprise bleeds through Clary's fear. Does he actually care what he says to his soldiers?

"I know. But right now, I want to get out of this forest and arguing isn't going to make it easier. Okay?" Jace's voice isn't softer, yet his eyes say something that contradicts his harsh tone. Alec nods tightly, before barking a quick order at the men surrounding her. Quickly working at her shackles, she sighs in relief as her throbbing skin was exposed to cool air. Instead of the rough metal that had been there to keep her from running, two thin circlets of metals with a long chain connecting them fastened over her wrists. After quickly securing her, Alec starts talking with the guards on attack positions. Jace steps in front of her, eyeing her up and down.

"Come on little girl, let's go on an adventure." He exclaims patronizingly. Clary fights the urge to punch him in the eye.

"For the last time, my name is not little girl." Clary grinds out through her teeth.

"Then why don't you tell me your name?" Jace counters. Clary responds with a less than lady like word. Jace snorts in response. "Cute. Now move."

She wants to plant her feet and refuse to go further in, but Clary knows it's too late. Because the one thing she remembered best about this forest was the pathways. There are none. Because every time you walk through the forest, the leaves close behind you. It changes until you're trapped inside, wandering endlessly, until the the toying stopped. And you became a part of the forest.

They part from the rest of the group, and Jace and Clary are left alone.

.o.O.o.

Every time Jace's boots snap a twig or crush a leaf, Clary jumps and Jace chuckles. He's enjoying watching her shake, isn't he? Enjoying the game before the killing begins.

Yet she can't focus too much on him now, because the music is louder. It's coming in haunting swells, the beautifully terrifying voices humming along. No words are spoken, just earth shattering notes ringing through the woods. Jace still doesn't hear it. Maybe Clary's insane and the music isn't real at all, maybe this is still just the ramblings of a scared child.

Since Clary began hearing the music, she's been trying to remember the events from when she was a little girl besides what she already knows. Still no luck. She has no idea what's lurking in the forest, and how it will kill them. All she knows is that soon the dirt will be soaked in blood. Their blood.

"You know, I'm curious. Why are you so terrified of being in here?" Jace questions, fighting his way through a particularly thorny bush. Clary stays quiet for a moment, debating on whether to answer or not. Hell, she's going to die anyways.

"I was in here before." Her voice is deathly quiet, but echoes in the vacuum of the forest winds. "As a child. I'm not going to tell you why, so don't bother asking. But I came in here, and I got lost. People were sent in after me." Clary took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "I was the only one who came out." She opened her eyes and glanced up at him.

Jace stops walking for a second to look back at her, shock and suspicion mingling on his face. "You're lying."

Clary raises her brows. "Well you've called my bluff. Let's see how you did." Her voice is quiet. Jace stares her down for a moment, searching her eyes for a flicker of uncertainty or lies. She knows he found nothing.

Jace starts to walk again, back a little more rigid, stance a little more alert. "I wonder who you are, girl made of porcelain. You single handedly killed two of my best guards in five minutes. Will you ever tell me your name?" He wonders aloud.

Changing the subject was easier when the person you are talking to barely pays any attention to you. Jace smirks but doesn't slow his pace or give her a second glance. "You seem to not be the slightest bit bothered by the fact that two of your personal guards are dead."

"Pangborn and Blackwell were idiots." Did he have no respect for the dead? For his own men? Men who were sworn to follow and protect him until their death and did just that?

Clary dug her heels into the rough ground, Jace halted his steps and turned to his unruly companion. "They're _dead_."

He rounds on her. "Are you showing remorse?"

"Over my dead body. Which, ironically, will be soon because of you and your damn pride."

"Well then, it's not your problem how I don't have the slightest urge to weep over their dead bodies. Keep moving."

Suppressing a snort, Clary attempts to keep up with his long strides while simultaneously watching the trees surrounding them, looking for any movement. She can almost swear lyrics start to join the swells of what sounds like piano forte and viola. Jace still can't hear it.

She opens her mouth to speak again, but the sound of a bloodcurdling scream cuts her off. Jace comes to a dead stop in front of her, throwing his arm out. They don't speak, don't move. It came again, loud and more painful, but stumbled short with a choke. Clary's fear spikes, her heart almost stopping. It's started.

~o.O.o~

Their feet push off the ground, faster and faster as her and Jace sprint through the thick underbrush towards the screams. The sound echoes off the trees, leaving them blindly running in the direction which they hope it came from. Clary's wrists clang painfully together in their confinement, but she doesn't care. They may be her enemies but no one deserves to be torn apart by monsters. Only the adrenaline running through her veins keeps her going, even though her mind, body, and soul begs her to run in the other direction.

The music is still sounding. Rising and rising, Clary's step falters as a sharp pain lances through her mind, her hands coming up to clamp her ears shut from the music with no sound. Though through her agony, Jace's scream is still audible.

He stops walking, Clary almost stumbling over him as he crash to his knees. Another scream rips from his throat, a scream of agonizing pain that hurt more than the stabbing inside Clary's own mind. "Make it stop!" He screams up into music filled air. A slow wind had picked up, rustling the trees and blowing dead leaves across their faces, adding to the twisted melody that never end.

Clary crumples as well, dragging her body over to Jace's limp one. "Can you hear it too?!" She screams at him, her hands still clapped over her ringing ears. Jace's only response is his yell, which fades out, replaced by a sour noted crescendo and whispers in no language, rising louder and faster until Clary can't hear herself scream. The wind blows harder, whipping tendrils of blood matted scarlet hair in front of her face and blocking Clary's view of Jace's hunched, shaking form. His mouth is still open, but all Clary hears is a final note before she blacks out.

She's dancing.

Her slender form is no longer matted down with dirt, sweat and the blood of the men she killed, but dressed in a gown the color of scarlet. Her black silk gloved hands clasp around another man's, and she's spun around, a ballroom made of amber with the world watching her as if she is brighter than the diamond cut glass they sip their wine from. The whispers that adjoin the pleasant music speak of her beautiful pale skin, the red hair that seems to float when she spins on her light feet, and the thinly cut black velvet mask that hides what must be a lovely face. The loudest thing is her soft laughter as she tips her head back, laughing at a joke she hasn't heard.

She's spun.

And yet her hands don't grasp the ones she danced with before. Instead a firmer grip welcomes her, holding her a little tighter, a little hotter, a little closer. The small gasp from her red painted mouth is barely audible as she looks up to see who her new dance partner is.

The lights seem to dim to a near black, cutting out the pictures of all the small people who talk and drink or dance alongside her, the buttery soft light all turning them into shadows and shining down on him in golden rays. Casting shadows along his face that doesn't bother to wear the mask required by the dresscode, they do nothing to lessen his beauty. Nothing to harshen the sharp planes of his face, nothing to wash out his tawny toned skin, nothing to cool the heated stare he regards her with in those gilded eyes. She cranes her neck back to see him properly, her feet still moving in the swift demanding dance he welcomes her into. The man is beautiful, the man is dangerous.

She doesn't miss the look in the gaze, the look that speaks of anger and hurt and a deadly, ancient danger that chills her more than the iced wine her company sipped on. Then he speaks.

"What are you thinking of?" His voice is barely a murmur, though so simple and demanding that the girl can't help the slight shiver that dances down her back. She knows he doesn't miss it.

"That your eyes remind me of a certain verse from a certain book." She speaks smoothly, cleanly, her articulation undisturbed by the quick movement of her feet as he leads her around the dancefloor, weaving her in between tightly pressed couples that part hastily in their path.

"Do tell."

The memorized verse comes to her easily. " _Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people._ "

"Dante, Inferno." Light amusement colors his voice, gaze still unwavering from her eyes. "Bit morbid for a party, though I digress. I'm interested to know why you think of the gates of Hell when you look at me."

She doesn't look away from him, her words coming slowly. "In your eyes, I don't see the gates of Hell, I see enough anger to burn down this world and turn it into one." The music is softer now, their dancing faster, his grip tighter. His dangerous smirk hasn't vanished, his gaze only more heated. The girl leans in closer, her next words a whisper. "And you're not telling me I'm wrong."

He spins her.

Turning smoothly on the balls of her feet, the blood red skirts fly out as she grasps his hand until she stops turning, looking back to take him in an arm's length away. The girl's breath stops, leaving her choking as she takes in his full form. The light has vanished from the room, leaving only him bathed in light and glowing in front of her. Two wings of a color purer than white sprout from his back, spanning four feet each way. The man's wings look as if they have been spun from clouds, needing no light to glow brighter than anything else in the room. Made out of beauty, he hurt to look at.

With a swift tug, the girl is back in his arms. Now no room separates their bodies, his electricity and heat seeping through her gown as his arms encircle her tightly. She clutches him hard, dancing on the balls of her feet clumsily as she tries to take in all of him. "You're- you're an angel." She chokes out, air finally moving through her throat. She can feel his deep chuckle against her. "I don't understand- how can an angel be so angry?"

His lips are soft and hot against her ear. " _Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant._ "

He dips her.

It comes suddenly, and her arms fly up to circle his neck as the boy with the angel wings dips her so low that the ends of her hair brush the marble beneath them. Her breath leaves her once more as his lips move against her throat in a low hum as he speaks, those beautiful tawny eyes filled with amusement and an emotion no poet could decipher.

"Poison and hate exist in the hearts of every angel. All that matters is how much you listen to it. Aren't all demons just fallen angels?"

Clary's eyes peel open slowly, the pounding in her head no worse. Though the music has stopped, and her muscles start responding again. Blinking wildly, the first thing she sees once her eyes adjust is Jace's crumpled form a few feet away, his head held in between his hands. "Jace!' Her hoarse voice calls as she drags her weak body over to him. "Jace, wake up!"

Shaking him hard, his body finally responds as he stirs awake, a short gasp as his eyelids fly open. Unfocused gold eyes stare up at her, his voice thick as if he had been drugged. "What happened?"

Clary moves back, getting unsteadily to her feet without bothering to brush the dirt off of her already tattered dress. "The music, I think it made us black out."

Jace rises also, shaking himself roughly to knock off lingering affects. His eyes regard her warily. "Did you hallucinate, or have a dream?"

She can't unsee those blinding white wings.

"No," the lie slips out easily, the instant desicion to worry about what the dream meant later clicking. "Now come on, I don't know how long it's been since we heard the screams."

Realization dawns on Jace's face, and he instantly breaks into a run, followed by Clary. Another yell, a yell of desperation rings throughout the air. "Alec!" Jace yells, recognizing the sound of his soldiers agony. He sounds panicked, his strides becoming faster until he was running towards the sound, leaving Clary behind. Jace's heaving back blocks her view until he stumbles to a stop. She ducks out of his way, stopping a couple of feet after him while fighting the urge to vomit.

The sprawling body of what used to be Enoch lays across the dirt, soaked in his own blood that looks black in the moonlight. His cold fingers clinging tightly to his sword.

Alec lays against a tree trunk, pointing his sword at the sky, his eyes betraying the terror he felt. Horrible, heartbreaking rattled gasps escape his chest as he attempts to push himself further against the tree, swinging his sword in quick swipes into the empty air. Clary stands still in shock, trying to process everything that is being hurdled at her and punching her in the stomach. The music has faded to a sinister alto whisper, sour notes ringing through the air with mingled laughs. Not laughs, shrieks. High pitched screams of malice seem to wrap around her brain, squeezing it in a vice until she wants to clutch her head in pain and pass out again.

As Jace runs to Alec to try to snap him out of his state of terror, Clary decides she can't hold it in anymore. Letting out a yell, she claps her hands over her ears, ignoring the shackles as she falls to her knees. Feeling the fabric of her ruined dress tearing even more, she rocks back and forth on her knees as the music seems to seep into her brain, pounding against the walls of her skull in a never ending tattoo, getting louder and louder until it's all she can hear and ten times worse than before. "Stop!" She cries weakly, attempting to stand on her weak knees. They refuse, buckling underneath her. The forest seems to laugh at her weak attempts.

"Alec, listen to me! _Look at me_." Jace yells, shaking Alec by his shoulders. His once beautiful powder blue eyes are unfocused and scared, staring up at Jace but not seeing him fully. He doesn't seem like the cold soldier anymore. He looks like Sebastian had that horrid night, like a lost, scared boy.

History has begun to repeat itself. And yet, Clary swears to the Angel that she won't be the only one to walk out of that forest tonight, kidnappers be damned. She refuses.

A dry sob escapes her chest as she rises to shaky feet, eyes focused on Enochs corpse. Remembering what had happened, the misery and evil that took place in these same trees a decade ago. That will not happen again.

Clary tilts her head up until the cool wind brushes delicately against her wet cheekbones, caressing her like the touch of the mother she still craves. And she parts her lips, letting loose the most beautiful scream ever heard by her own ears, ringing with the confidence of a queen she never knew she could muster.

"SILENCE." Her powerful voice rang through the clearing, somehow louder than the teasing shrieks of the leaves, somehow louder than the pounding of her own heart, somehow more commanding than the presence of a thousand kings.

The music stops. No warning, no fading, just stops.

As if someone had shoved wax into her ears and deafened her senses, she hears nothing. Her eyes are wide and bright in the pale moonlight, fists clenched into balls by her sides. Clary's breath comes in short pants, leaving her dizzy and lightheaded and with eyes filled with tears. Yet she stands her ground, staring up into the leaves and daring them to defy her once more.

A minute passes, and no more screams, no more songs, no more whispers. So she lowers her head until she meets the dazed look of Alec who slowly resurfaces, and the full on stare of Jace. She focuses on the luminescent light of his pupils, trying to get her vision to swim back into focus. They stay like that for a moment, Clary staring at Jace who stares right back, hands limp on a shocked Alec. Jace only manages three words.

 _"Who are you?"_

* * *

 ** _So after my minor surgery thing my best friend ended up coming to surprise me! It was sweet as hell and we spent the day together!_**

 ** _Also I just posted a new story for Harry Potter so if you guys can check it out and tell me what you think it would be really great._**

 ** _Much love._**


	5. AN

**Hey everyone,**

 **Bad news, this story might never be finished. You might ask why and I'm going to tell you.**

 **I have no respect for Cassandra Clare anymore. I used to be one of her biggest fans, I own all of her books, I went to BookExpo to meet her, I watched the movie and the show. But I figured something out about Judith and now I cannot bring myself to write Mortal Instruments fanfictions for a while. All of Clare's works are made up of plagiarism- huge chunks of text and dialogue are copied from other books and shows (like Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Babylon 5), going back to her Fanfiction days.**

 **Granted, I never looked into the controversy before I started writing these but I did about a year ago and ever since I've lost the will to write Mortal Instruments fanfiction. I hope some day I can come back and finish these stories- I probably will. Either way, do not copy my stories, do not "finish" my stories or post continuations of my work.**

 **I do enjoy the show still since it is pretty separate from the books, so I hope one day I'll start looking at these stories more like showfics than bookfics.**

 **I'm sorry for the inconvenience and I hope you still enjoy whatever number of chapters I have up, those will not be deleted.**


End file.
